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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135043">Pantaloons on Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon'>nomelon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathtubs, First Kiss, First Time, Lying Spell, M/M, Magical Accidents, Magical Artifacts, idiots to lovers, oh what feeling is this?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:22:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier is hit by a lying curse. Geralt takes full advantage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1338</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pantaloons on Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"No, Jaskier, don't touch the--!"</p><p>Too late.</p><p>There's a mystical whoomph, like all the air is sucked out of the cave then shoved back a few seconds later, a large puff of smoke that smells like the air after lightning, chased by a faint whiff of sulphur, then threads of gossamer that float through the air, shimmering and coating everything as the smoke dissipates.</p><p>Jaskier is standing in the centre of it all, wrinkling his nose at the settling gossamer, his hand still on the carved stone artefact.</p><p>He tilts a nervous little grin at Geralt. "Oops?"</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes and growls, telling himself that punching the cave wall might feel pretty good for a second, but it's not worth the cracked knuckles. He opens his eyes to see Jaskier delicately placing the artefact back precisely where he got it, in amongst all the other trinkets and baubles the cave trolls like to hoard, positioning it just so, and backing away slowly, palms out.</p><p>"There," he says, "no harm done. Nothing to see here."</p><p>Geralt sighs the weary sigh of a man who only wants the good, quiet, simple things in life, but never gets to have them because all his friends are idiots. "Jaskier, why do you insist on doing these things to me?"</p><p>"Because I don't care what you think and you're too stupid to notice half the things I do anyway."</p><p>Geralt raises his eyebrows. Jaskier looks in turns surprised, then horrified, then unaccountably worried and shifty.</p><p>"Ouch," Geralt says.</p><p>"Oh dear. Geralt, I'm terribly sorry. I have no idea where that came from."</p><p>Geralt <i>hmms</i> at him, then squats down, elbows on his knees, and squints at the artefact without touching it. It's really not that hard, not touching things you're clearly not supposed to touch. Geralt does it all the time.</p><p>"You're cursed," he announces.</p><p>"<i>Cursed</i>?" Jaskier squeaks.</p><p>"It's hard to read. The inscription is faded. Says here something about right becomes wrong, black is white, blah blah blah."</p><p>"Geralt, be a sport and don't blah blah reading my curse, would you?"</p><p>Geralt ignores him and reads a moment longer. "Lying spell," he says, and straightens.</p><p>Jaskier frowns, but hopefully. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad."</p><p>"Why do you hate Valdo Marx so much?"</p><p>"Oh, but I don't. He's a darling and a delight. His compositions are second to none. Quite a good looking rogue, if I do say so myself. I wouldn't mind a roll in the hay with that one, I can tell you." Jaskier slaps both hands over his mouth in horror. "Oh, oh, Geralt, make it stop!"</p><p>Geralt shakes his head, the corner of his mouth curving. "You're compelled to lie if asked a question."</p><p>Jaskier blinks, thinking this through. "But that's... that's awful. And ridiculous. And <i>telling</i>.  If anyone catches wind of this..."</p><p>Geralt shakes out the large sack he brought, retrieves his swords, and sets about slicing cave troll heads from cave troll bodies to bring back to town as proof of a job well done, and cutting out the livers to sell to the local apothecary.</p><p>Jaskier stands well back, holding his nose. "Pheew. That smells even more foul than usual. Were they sick? Dying? How do trolls live like this?"</p><p>Geralt ties off the sack. They do stink, but the trick is to breathe through your mouth, and to know that on a scale of one to burn your eyes out of your head, cave trolls rate about a two and a half. He draws his silver sword, spins neatly, and cleaves the artefact in two. One part spins away into the shadows of the cave and the other comes to rest between them. Geralt smashes it with the heel of his boot.</p><p>"Is that it?" Jaskier asks. "I'm done?"</p><p>"What's your name?" Geralt asks.</p><p>"Patricia," Jaskier answers promptly, then stamps his foot in frustration.</p><p>"Not done," Geralt says. He grabs his sack and ducks down to exit the cave through the short tunnel, emerging into the sunshine with a stretch and a lungful of fresh air.</p><p>Jaskier follows close behind him. "Geralt? How long does this last? Geralt!"</p><p>Geralt ignores him and walks through the little clearing to where he'd left Roach tied to a tree beside a very handy little stream. He ties the stinking bag of heads to the pommel, tucks away the packet of livers in the saddlebags, and bends to wash his hands and face in the stream.</p><p>"Are we walking back?" Jaskier asks. He ducks down beside Geralt and rinses gossamer from his face and hair, then smooths his eyebrows and pats his hair back into shape effortlessly, curling it just so over one ear.</p><p>The sack is heavy. Geralt slept well yesterday and the fight wasn't taxing. No need to overburden Roach if he doesn't have to. He shakes the excess water from his hands, unties her from the tree, and sets off.</p><p>"We're walking back," Jaskier says, with an air of inevitability, and falls into step beside him.</p><p>There is blessed silence for all of five minutes, though Geralt can hear Jaskier thinking.</p><p>"This is a stupid curse. Why not just make it a truth spell? Wouldn't that be less convoluted?"</p><p>"Magic is always convoluted."</p><p>"True," Jaskier says, mulling this over. "Look, it's fine. You just don't ask me any questions and I'll just keep to myself until it wears off. It will wear off, won't it?"</p><p>"Maybe."</p><p>"You mean you don't know?"</p><p>Water drips from Geralt's chin. "It wasn't very clear. Breaking the stone didn't do it. Curses like this, sometimes they just fade; sometimes you need to break them."</p><p>"Well, which is it?"</p><p>"I don't know."</p><p>"This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Geralt. If you needed a quick lesson on chordal progression or iambic pentameter, I'm your man. But right now, the onus is on you."</p><p>"It won't last forever. They seldom do."</p><p>"Great. That's so, so great. So will it last a day or a year?"</p><p>"It should blow over soon."</p><p>"You really have no idea, do you?"</p><p>"Hmm." </p><p>Jaskier stomps along beside him. "You won't ask me any questions in the meantime, will you?"</p><p>Sometimes, Geralt thinks, Jaskier must actively enjoy inviting trouble into his life.</p><p>"Do I ever?" he asks, fully and completely on purpose.</p><p>"Only all the time," Jaskier says, narrowing his eyes at Geralt's decision to be a terrible friend. "You're incredibly nosy, Geralt. Always interested in the affairs of others."</p><p>Geralt can't help his faint smile, made worse by Jaskier's indignant huff and the way he kicks the head off an innocent passing dandelion.</p><p>They make good time back to the village, ready for sustenance and the comforts of indoor living. Geralt finds a stable-boy who actually calls him "sir" ("you're welcome," Jaskier mutters under his breath) and whom Roach doesn't hate on sight. He leaves some very specific instructions for her care, plus a small coin that makes the boy's eyes light up, and the promise of another for a job well done.</p><p>He drags the sack of heads to the merchant who'd engaged his services, collects his fee and turns his back and leaves when the man demands he takes the heads away with him, then calls into the apothecary to slap the packet of livers on the counter and collect his second lot of coin. It's been a good day, a profitable day, and no new scars to show for it. A hot meal is in order, enough alcohol to dull his senses, and a bath before bed.</p><p>The tavern is warm but not stifling, bustling but not packed, and smells like old beer and the sweat of the fields. Jaskier breathes it all in and procures them a recently vacated table by the window. The woman behind the bar heaves herself off her stool and approaches their table. She is rotund and ruddy, with biceps to rival Geralt's, and looks down at them like she has far, far better things to be doing with her time.</p><p>"Two bowls of piping hot stew, my good woman, some bread and butter and cheese, and two flagons of ale, if you please."</p><p>"And we'll take two rooms. And a hot bath," Geralt adds.</p><p>She grunts, and waddles to the kitchen with their order.</p><p>Jaskier watches her go, then turns to Geralt with a smile on his face. "I think she likes us."</p><p>As long as she brings food, and soon, Geralt doesn't give a damn what she thinks of them. "Will you be performing this evening?"</p><p>"Yes, of course," Jaskier says, with a look like he thinks Geralt is both sloth-slow and highly deluded. "Because what could possibly go wrong if they start asking me things? Althoughhh," he taps his chin with one finger, "perhaps if I deliver all my answers in an incredibly <i>sarcastic</i> way..."</p><p>"More so than usual?"</p><p>There's a pause. "I think the curse is allowing me to take that one as a hypothetical and not answer you directly -- and you're <i>hilarious</i>, by the by, don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise, Geralt -- but, no, on second thoughts, that's just as likely to get my head bashed in by a great lunking farmhand who takes offense at my sparkling wit if he asks too many questions." Jaskier sighs dramatically. "Looks like a performance is off the cards for this evening."</p><p>Their food arrives, interrupting Jaskier's musings. Two large bowls are thunked onto the table. Steam, and something that could generously be described as an aroma, rise. Jaskier wrinkles his nose and looks closer. He lifts something that looks suspiciously like a tail out of his stew.</p><p>"Somethin' wrong?" the barmaid asks in a thick accent.</p><p>"Wrong? My goodness, no, this looks marvellous. I can't remember the last time I was served a repast this appetising."</p><p>She squints at him. "Are ye takin' the piss?"</p><p>Jaskier blinks rapidly, then lays a hand over his heart. "I would <i>never</i> lie to the fairer sex. I meant every word of it. Can a man not simply express his gratitude for a job well done and excellent service?"</p><p>She stares at him for a long moment. Geralt waits for the explosion, eyeing the table to see how he can protect his food and keep eating if Jaskier is getting his ears boxed. But instead a small, coquettish smile appears on the barmaid's face, and she turns to leave, throwing an actual giggle over her shoulder for good measure.</p><p>Geralt frowns a look in Jaskier's direction. Jaskier is watching the woman walk away with a fond, but slightly patronising smile on his face.  He catches Geralt looking, and shrugs in that way of his that says: look, Geralt, I'm completely innocent of whatever it is you're accusing me of, and I can back that up with many long-winded and well-reasoned arguments, if given half a chance, and by the way, have you noticed how big and blue my eyes are, and how harmless my general demeanour?</p><p>Geralt grunts and picks up his spoon. Even during their silent conversations Jaskier talks too much.</p><p>The barmaid returns with two cups and a platter of bread and cheese, and sets them on the table. Geralt sniffs.</p><p>"Somethin' wrong?" she asks.</p><p>"We ordered ale," Geralt says.</p><p>"'sfor the bard," the woman says, eyes only for Jaskier. "On the 'ouse."</p><p>Jaskier looks touched. "My deepest thanks."</p><p>She bobs her head and shuffles away, a dainty smile on her homely face.</p><p>Geralt takes a large swig of the wine. "Hmm. Not a complete loss." He starts shovelling the stew into his mouth, doing his best not to taste it or chew it too much on its way down. "Aren't you eating?" he asks, one cheek stuffed full.</p><p>Jaskier pulls a face. "Oh, yes. I'm just savouring the anticipation. It looks so appetising. My mouth is watering."</p><p>"Drink your wine," Geralt says around a mouthful of... some type of meat best not examined too closely.</p><p>Jaskier drinks the wine but pushes his stew over to Geralt. He picks at the bread instead, slathering it with butter, and crumbling pieces of cheese to eat with it.</p><p>They eat their fill and drink several more cups of the not terrible wine, and are brought a solitary iron key and told there is only a double left and the water is being heated for their bath. They wobble up the stairs and walk to the end of the little passageway to find their room. They have to duck their heads under a thick wooden beam to enter, but inside the room is thankfully bright and airy: a window overlooking the tail-end of the village's main street and the forest beyond, a fireplace stacked with wood, a table and chair, an empty wooden bathtub, and two beds.</p><p>Geralt looks between the beds. Then at Jaskier. Then back at the beds. "Which one do you want?"</p><p>"The small, lumpy looking one in the corner."</p><p>Geralt grunts and tosses his pack at the foot of the larger bed. "Your wish, my command."</p><p>"Having fun?" Jaskier sighs. "Geralt, I must say you're not playing very fair. Taking advantage of a man under the influence just isn't on."</p><p>"Are you saying you wouldn't if the tables were turned?"</p><p>"I most certainly would not!" Jaskier insists, then clenches his fists in frustration and takes a breath. "Look, can we just stop talking now?"</p><p>Geralt turns his back. "At last, a curse that works in my favour."</p><p>He undoes his armour -- it won't need more than a cursory brush this evening, thank the gods -- and pulls his shirt over his head. He sniffs it and tosses it to one side, then pulls a comb from his bag. It was a gift from Jaskier. He frowns at it: such a foolish piece of carved and polished horn. He angles his body so Jaskier won't be able to see he has it in his hand, then frowns some more because why does he care, and tosses it onto the bed. He can use it later when their bath arrives because it's actually very nice when his hair isn't a solid mass of tangles, and afterwards, glorious sleep.</p><p>Although the evening is yet young. Perhaps more wine is in order. He turns to sit on the bed and unlace his boots, but pauses because Jaskier is still standing in the middle of the room, an unhappy expression on his face.</p><p>"Look, maybe I should just go and sleep in the stable with Roach."</p><p>Normally he would just grunt and let Jaskier do as he wished, but perhaps this asking questions thing is catching, because what comes out of his mouth is: "What's wrong now?"</p><p>"Wrong? Nothing is wrong. Absolutely nothing at all."</p><p>Geralt tilts his head, considering. He could let the bard be, but this is so unlike Jaskier. Normally he says precisely what's on his mind and damns the consequences, but for him to be actually afraid of what he might reveal...</p><p>"Why is this such a problem for you?"</p><p>"Problem? I don't have a problem with this. Everything is perfect. I couldn't have asked for a better curse to befall me. No problems here."</p><p>Geralt narrows his eyes. "So you're afraid, then. Afraid of what I might ask you. Are you hiding something important from me?"</p><p>"Nooo," Jaskier says, backing away, his eyes darting to his pack and his lute. He repeats the words about a dozen times and tries hiding it with a little chuckle. "In fact, I was just thinking about settling in for the evening, sticking around and having a long, in-depth conversation with you about every little thought that's on my mind, as there is nothing I've been hiding from you since basically the moment we met."</p><p>"That doesn't sound ominous at all."</p><p>"It's all relative, isn't it? Geralt, I'm begging you." He keeps backing up until his shoulders hit the wall. "Everyone has secrets. Big secrets, small secrets. They protect us. And in the scheme of things... this isn't even a ripple."</p><p>"Secrets have a way of coming out in the end."</p><p>"It's not even important!"</p><p>"You're making it important."</p><p>"You're the one prodding at it! I'm nervous and annoyed and trying to avoid talking about it! Understandably, I would have thought."</p><p>Geralt has never had any patience for subterfuge or beating around the bush. He knows Jaskier, the good and the bad, and whatever this secret is, he doubts very much that it could be as earth-shattering as Jaskier seems to think. Now that they're both aware there <i>is</i> something hidden, it's better to just rip off the bandage and get it over with.</p><p>"You don't need to be. What is it you're not telling me?"</p><p>Jaskier sucks in a breath like he's just taken a hit, and goes very still. A muscle jumps in his cheek as he tries to fight it, but the words won't be stopped.</p><p>"I hate you," he says. "I've never hated anyone more in my entire life. You may be sweetness and light on the surface, but underneath it all you're stupid and cruel, a veritable heart of stone, and I wouldn't sleep with you if my life depended on it. I've never even thought about it before. Not even once, as you are the most unattractive man I have ever had the misfortune to look at. I could leave today and live in joy and happiness if I never set eyes on you again in this life or the next."</p><p>"Oh," says Geralt, because he'd always known that Jaskier's gaze had lingered a little too long and he had no concept of personal space, that he was a little too willing spend time together that wasn't witchering related, that he'd never put out even the tiniest whiff of fear around Geralt, even on the bad days. He always touched Geralt too often, smiled at him too much, dug a little too deep in his quest for stories, was always offering to wash Geralt's hair for him, and that time with the camomile... but still. That's... more than he was expecting.</p><p>A lot more.</p><p>"Oh, <i>fuck</i>," Jaskier spits, turning his head away and screwing his eyes shut. "I can't believe you did that. You are such an utter bastard."</p><p>He sounds scared and embarrassed and furious, ready to bolt or throw a punch, and Geralt is nearly washed away in a wave of fondness. He steps closer, enjoying the way Jaskier's throat bobs as he swallows, moving his head around to scent the discomfort.</p><p>"I didn't know you felt that way."</p><p>"<i>What</i>?" Jaskier opens his eyes. They really are very blue. "How could you <i>not</i> know? I thought all this time we'd just been manfully not talking about it."</p><p>"I've seen you looking. I could smell it on you. And you get very handsy when you're in your cups. But... you're like a butterfly. You flit from lover to lover as the spirit moves you, but this... this is more. I didn't know." Jaskier's face is a dull red shade, and he tries to turn away. Geralt catches him gently by the chin and turns his head so they're looking at one another. "All you had to do was say."</p><p>"Are you teasing me right now, Geralt?" he asks in a very still, quiet voice Geralt has never heard from him before. "Because I'll have you know it's very--"</p><p>Geralt cuts him off by pressing their mouths together. Jaskier lets out a shocked little whimper, but opens up for it. Geralt steps closer, kissing harder when Jaskier's hands brush over the naked skin of his chest.</p><p>They kiss for a long time, finding their rhythm, lips and teeth and tongues, and when they finally break apart, they're both breathless.</p><p>"How was that?" Geralt asks, tilting his head, curious.</p><p>"Awful," Jaskier says immediately, looking stunned, dizzy, his gaze falling continuously to Geralt's mouth only to be dragged back up to his eyes again. "Disgusting. I never want you to touch me again. You taste like onions."</p><p>"Really. Do you want more?"</p><p>"Nope."</p><p>"Do you want me to touch you?"</p><p>"Absolutely not."</p><p>"Where?"</p><p>Jaskier scowls at him. "I want you to touch my fucking elbow."</p><p>Geralt lays a hand on the exposed skin where Jaskier's shirt gapes open. He tugs the laces open so more of Jaskier's chest is laid bare. He smooths his fingers over warm skin and the furious pulse at the base of Jaskier's throat, then tugs a little on his chest hair.</p><p>Jaskier's breath stutters.</p><p>"Mm. Where else?"</p><p>Jaskier has to swallow to speak. "My-my left knee."</p><p>Geralt tugs the shirt from his trousers and slips his hands underneath to smooth over the skin of Jaskier's belly, soft over firm muscle.</p><p>Jaskier bangs his head off the wall.</p><p>"Anywhere else?"</p><p>"The tip of my nose."</p><p>Geralt almost laughs. He leans in and kisses Jaskier's nose. Jaskier's eyes are all dark pupil, staring up at Geralt like he's lost in the dark and Geralt is the only source of light.</p><p>"Is this what you wanted?" Geralt murmurs, in close, their lips almost touching.</p><p>"No," Jaskier says immediately and with great feeling. "This is the worst. It feels terrible. You-- you-- Melitele's <i>arse</i>, Geralt. Stop asking me your bloody questions and just kiss me. Please. Will you? I can't take you teasing me right now. I can't. I'm stripped bare and you're... you're--"</p><p>"I'm not teasing," Geralt says, and kisses him again, makes it deep and wet, and bites at his lower lip. Then, because he probably is a bastard, he asks, "Is that better?"</p><p>Jaskier shakes his head. "No, no, it's awful," he whispers hotly, and slides a hand to the back of Geralt's neck and squeezes to keep him right where he is.</p><p>Jaskier's cheeks are pink, his hair is mussed, his chest heaving. He looks fucking <i>gorgeous</i>. Geralt's whole body is singing for his faithful, ridiculous bard, and how in the name of all the gods has it taken them so long to get here? Geralt snugs their hips together, and it makes Jaskier clutch at him.</p><p>"Oh, mother of <i>fuuuck</i>."</p><p>"Do you want me to stop?"</p><p>Jaskier draws back and looks at Geralt like he's crazy. "<i>Yes</i>," he says, with great feeling and even greater sarcasm, and starts pulling at the ties of Geralt's trousers.</p><p>This, of course, is when there's a knock at the door.</p><p>"Fuck off!" they yell as one, Geralt half-turning to snarl over his shoulder.</p><p>"Bath water, sirs," comes a timid voice from the other side of the door.</p><p>Geralt weighs his options and steps back. Jaskier nearly slides down the wall but catches himself just in time.</p><p>Geralt opens the door. There's a girl standing outside. "Be quick about it."</p><p>Her gaze slides over Geralt's broad, scarred chest and then skitters away as she tries to figure out a safer place to let it land. She chooses Jaskier, with his pink face, shirt open nearly to his navel, and erection obscenely obvious in his stupidly tight trousers. The girl visibly steels herself and enters as best she can with a wooden yoke over her shoulders carrying two huge buckets of steaming water. A boy follows her in with another yoke. They set the buckets down and pour them into the wooden bathtub, holding their own silent conversation with their eyes, pointedly looking at neither witcher nor bard, but clearly storing up a lot to say about both as soon as they're back out of earshot.</p><p>There's an awkward shuffle when they're done, collecting the yokes and turning them to exit the room. The boy bobs his head and the girl drops a slight curtsey. </p><p>"Good evening to you," she says as she all but flees the room.</p><p>Geralt bolts the door behind her.</p><p>The room is silent. Outside in the hallway there is the sound of hasty retreating footsteps and a short giggle. Steam is rising from the bath and the air feels hot and damp.</p><p>Geralt kicks off his boots. Jaskier hasn't moved: his back still to the wall, palms spread on the whitewashed plaster. His eyes are wide and his chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. Geralt finishes unlacing his trousers, pushes them down over his hips, and pulls the leather tie from his hair. He fishes a bottle of scented oil from his pack and pours some into the bath water.</p><p>Jaskier looks <i>pained</i>, but he hasn't moved a muscle.</p><p>"Take your clothes off," Geralt says, and steps into the water.</p><p>Jaskier scrambles to obey.</p><p>Geralt sinks down into the scalding water with a sigh of pleasure. He dunks his head, scrubs his fingertips over his scalp, and comes back up, sweeping his hair back. That will do for now. He can heat the water again later with a minor misuse of Igni if needs be.</p><p>Jaskier is naked from the knees up. He catches one look of Geralt emerging from the water, makes a sound like a dying water nymph, and trips over his own trousers. Geralt bites on his lip to keep from smiling. It's a boost to a man's ego to see one normally so adept at seduction be reduced to such clumsiness.</p><p>Jaskier drags himself upright using fistfuls of blankets as Geralt steps from the bath. Jaskier leans his hips on the bed, still hobbled by the tangle of clothing around his legs. Geralt kneels at his feet and helps him step out of his trousers. Geralt stays where he is, and runs his palms up Jaskier's thighs. Jaskier's cock jerks and sways. Geralt doesn't touch it, but his face is very close.</p><p>Jaskier's hand is trembling when he cups Geralt's face. He slides his fingers into Geralt's hair and grips, but there's no real strength to it.</p><p>"Geralt," he whispers.</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>"Geralt, ask me--" He licks his lips. "Ask me how I feel about you."</p><p>Geralt rises to his feet and steps into Jaskier's space. "No more questions."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>They are a sweaty, sticky, overheated mess. Geralt rolls off to sprawl out over the bed so they're lying shoulder to shoulder, both of them breathing heavily. Jaskier makes a sound of loss and throws an arm and a leg over Geralt's body. He snuggles in and rests his sweaty forehead against Geralt's ribs. Geralt smiles where he knows Jaskier can't see him and fists his hand in the back of Jaskier's hair. Jaskier doesn't resist; only makes a sad little grunt of exhaustion. Geralt turns Jaskier's head for him so they can make eye contact. Gone is Jaskier's neatly arranged hair; gone is his carefully sculpted persona. In his place, there's a heavy, blissed out ragdoll with a giant, dazed smile on his face.</p><p>Geralt is in so, so much trouble. He may never recover from this one.</p><p>"How do you feel now?"</p><p>Jaskier licks his lips. "Well, I don't think my legs work, and I can't feel my toes. I feel... transcendent."</p><p>"I was actually talking about your curse, but... transcendent?"</p><p>"Yes, quite. I may float away. But if you give me a moment to collect myself, I could be persuaded to work up to round two. We have a lot of ground to cover, you and I."</p><p>"We do?"</p><p>"Why, yes, of course. This isn't... Wait. Oh. That wasn't... I told the truth."</p><p>"What's my name?"</p><p>"I'd really love to say Patricia, but... Geralt. It's Geralt."</p><p>"Problem solved."</p><p>"Huh. It wasn't..." Jaskier lifts his arm from Geralt's chest to make a crude up-and-down gesture with his hand. "That broke it, was it?"</p><p>Geralt shakes his head and points out the room's small window. "Sunset, most probably."</p><p>"You mean... all I had to do was wait a few hours?"</p><p>"Mmm."</p><p>There's a long pause.</p><p>"Oh, you are <i>such</i> a bastard. An opportunistic, self-serving, back-stabbing bastard."</p><p>Geralt cuts him off with another kiss. "Shut up, Jaskier."</p><p>Jaskier kisses back enthusiastically, hands wandering, curses bitten off, sighs moaned.</p><p>"I really hate you," he says when they finally break apart.</p><p>He's already half-hard against Geralt's thigh. They're pretty disgusting, but the bath water should still be hot, and Geralt certainly wouldn't be adverse to getting Jaskier into the water, washing him down, and seeing about that round two. Then maybe they could order more wine.</p><p>"Really," Geralt says, smugly. "Do you?"</p><p>Jaskier frowns and pouts at the same time. Geralt resolutely doesn't find it adorable.</p><p>"No," Jaskier agrees, his expression softening. "I really don't."</p>
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